Shadowed Phantasm
by Little Shizuku
Summary: Set in a futuristic, fantastical setting. The girl Lolita inherits a mysteriously haunted opera house. Please give me a chance and read.
1. Chapter 1: The Phantom

Note: While this is being posted on I do not consider this really a fanfiction, because it doesn't take any of the exact characters, settings, themes, events, or ideas. While some of the aspects are based on those in _The Phantom of the Opera_, and obviously, the character of the Phantom is based on the Phantom in _The Phantom of the Opera_, I did not take anything else. It's sort of like _Gankutsuo_ and _The Count of Monte Cristo_.

Disclaimer: Some of the ideas, themes, and one of the characters are inspired by those of _The Phantom of the Opera_.

Chapter One:

The Phantom of the Opera

The steady creak of coach wheels bored into Lolita's ears, and she could not sleep. The passing houses all looked so ornate, so fanciful, and so… similar. They all had those delicately sloped roofs, those gilded doors and windows, those carefully constructed walls and foreboding fences… How could her relatives lived in a house like that and left her family to suffer? How could she now be setting off to live in this environment?

Trying to force out the incessant squeaking, Lolita shut her eyes, messaging her temple in the attempt to relax. How had this all happened? It must have started long ago. When Mother married father. Yes, that was it. Mother was from a well to do family. They hadn't liked father, who was penniless and not much to look at. Lolita grimaced. She had always hated the world's annoying focus on beauty. What did that matter? She didn't think this because she was ugly — she was frequently bothered by men's comments confirming the contrary — but because it was so ridiculous. Still, that wasn't the point. Mother was estranged from her wealthy family. Mother had given birth to four sons and finally one daughter — Lolita. Mother had fallen ill and died, and then her parents did the same. Lolita snorted. Irony ruled her life. At any rate, Mother's parents had left their world famous opera house and business to their favorite heir who was, much to everyone's surprise, Lolita. "She was the most polite and pretty in that hell house." Lolita gagged, recalling that statement.

She lay down, trying to find comfort in the steady rocking of the coach. She supposed she was old enough to work; She was eighteen, a legal adult. But why, why on earth did she have to live in that opera house, and direct those countless shows? The people promised other officials would do all the work, and she just had to watch over everything, but it still worried her. She did not enjoy being called "Madam" and she liked even less that she had been forced to change her surname to that of her grandparents. So what if they thought her father was scum? Did that make his surname scum, too? Ridiculous.

Still, one thing above all bothered Lolita about this was the rumor. Everyone knew it, but they only spoke of it in dimly lit rooms at night, in hushed tones so no one but the one they intended could hear them. "The Phantom of the Opera." That was his name. Some called him a ghost, others called him a mischievous lecher, while still others said he was many people. However, Lolita cared not _what _her was so much as what he _did. _Strange, unexplained threats and letters had often bothered her grandparents, or so she heard. Horrible "accidents" that no one could explain… And worst, the rumors of people — mainly girls — going missing for days only to show up with no memory of the whole incident. Lolita hugged her knees. If anyone tried to pull something on her, she'd give them a good strong kick in the crotch and see if they ever tried again.

The coach came to a shuddering halt. Lolita peered her head out the window. The stars shown in pinpoints across the deep blue blanket of the sky. They were reflected in Lolita's green orbs, making them seem all the bigger and darker. She smiled lovingly. At least now, from her home in the opera house, she would get a good view of that lovely night sky. In the city slums — her former neighborhood — they were always shrouded by disgusting clouds of smog.

"Madam, whilst thou be so kind as to allow me to help thou from thy carriage?" The blatantly formal voice of her coach driver wormed its way into Lolita's ear. She shuddered. It was going to take a while to get used to this painful thing called manners.

"Yes. Thank you," she mumbled, awkwardly stepping down as the coach driver guided her down by putting a hand on her elbow. She knew that this is what he was supposed to do, but she felt completely violated. She did not wait to be assisted to the opera building, but blundered forward on her own.

What a majestic sight it made. The opera house rose into the sky, each wall masterfully carved in the style of ancient art. This was a very old building, and Lolita knew it had been redone many times. She was unable to hold back the sense of awe that overwhelmed her as she pushed open the huge door.

It creaked ominously, and was so heavy she could only open it enough to get her slight frame through before it slammed shut. Before her was a huge, empty room with stairs going up in all different directions. Lolita shivered. It was warmer in here than outside, and the flickering candles (for effect, Lolita assumed, for even in the slums, she had electricity) and the chandelier provided more light than the moon, but even so, Lolita could not force down the creeping feeling that no replaced her awe.

"Ah… Is there anyone here?" she called, her voice sounding annoyingly girlish and vulnerable. It was enough she looked like that — she did not want to sound that way, also. There was no answer. Lolita turned back, hoping that perhaps the coach driver would enter and show her the way. Still, no one came through the doors. She sighed, and, on her own, began to walk.

The candles' light stretched her shadow behind her, and left strange dancing light on the walls. Lolita looked at her feet to avoid the sight. It bothered her, those flickering shadows and flames. She just stared at her feet and the red carpet. She hopped up the stairs as she came to them — she had taken the central path. She just walked, and as she went, she became accustomed to the sound of her feet as they went, a light _pat-pat-pat._ Lolita paused a moment. What was that heavier noise? Not her own feet, but a deeper, harder _tak-tak-tak_ sound. It stopped with her. Lolita frowned, and began to walk. Her feet lightly patted, but there was again the heavy sound. She stopped. It stopped.

"Who's there?" Lolita asked, spinning around. There was no one. She grimaced. "Whoever you are, you may like to know that I have decided I loathe you." Anyone who hid in shadows and scared the living daylights out of her was not a being she would like, be they human or phantom or anything. She sighed, and continued forward, only to stop suddenly. Before her was another set of doors. She blinked, turning her head to one side. She had been going up stairs for a while now, so why there huge doors, so high up? Shrugging to herself, Lolita gripped the handle and pulled it open. She gasped, stepping forward through the doorway.

She was standing in one of the highest boxes in the opera house. Before her were two seats, and below her… Below her was a huge room full of rows and rows of seats, positioned before a stage. So this was where operas were held. A smile grew on her face as she went the edge of the box. The view was breath taking, and this was when there _weren't_ people filling those rows, or performing on the stage. Perhaps… Perhaps Lolita would enjoy this new life.

"Like the view, Madam?" A deep voice derailed Lolita's train of thought and made her heart skip a beat. She spun around, dark hair flying. There, sitting in one of the seats, was a tall, elegantly dressed young man. He wore a black suit and a long cape, which sat regally over his broad shoulders. His hair was smooth and well arranged, pulled into a ponytail. His face, however, was what caught her eye the most. One half, the half that she could see, was quite handsome. A dark eye shone out, observing her every move. The other half, however, was concealed behind a white mask, the same color as the gloves he wore.

"Who are you?" Lolita asked stiffly, her body rigid. The man grinned with the half of his mouth that was visible. He rose, striding towards her and pausing about a foot away. From nowhere, he pulled out a blood red rose. Taking her hand in his, he pulled it up and placed the rose in it, then let her go.

"I am a person who your grandparents knew, Madam, or may I call you Lolita?" he said, a villainous shine in his eyes. Lolita looked down at the rose. It was perfect, not a single petal out of place. The thorns had even been cut off.

"Where did you find this?" Lolita asked, waving the rose unceremoniously in the man's face. He snorted, pushing it away. The grin he had been wearing had now faded to a slightly vexed look.

"I would appreciate it if Madam would answer my question before posing one of her own," the man said coldly. His voice was like ice, and it cut into Lolita's conscious. It was so quietly vicious that Lolita blurted out an answer immediately.

"Y-You may call me Lolita if you tell me where you got this and who you really are," she said quickly. The man stared a moment and then chuckled. He grinned once again.

"A compromise, then. I got that flower from a garden of mine, which is hidden somewhere in this opera house, if you ever wish to find it. As for who I am, I have many names, it would seem," he said, and quite abruptly, he leapt up, his feet shooting him into the air and over Lolita's head. She clenched her fists, nearly screaming. Was he jumping off the box's edge? But no, he landed on the rail, cloak swirling about him dramatically.

"The most common name of mine, however, is…" He paused, crouching now and leaning in so that he was whispering into Lolita's ear. "…The Phantom of the Opera." With this, he stood, a broad grin on his face. He leaned back and dropped backwards over the edge of the rail.

"Ah!" Lolita shrieked, leaning down and trying to grab him as he swirled in shadow to the ground. A voice boomed out around her.

"I'll see you soon, Lolita." It was he. It was the one everybody spoke of in hushed whispers. It was the bloody Phantom of the Opera! Lolita's knees shook, and she collapsed to the ground. Everything around her was fuzzy, and then it fell into shadow.

Sorry it was so very short, but my beginnings tend to be. Please review and read the next chapter, which I hope to have up very soon.

—SilverSaki


	2. Chapter 2: Sir Ange

Sorry about the error at the end of chapter one. There was supposed to be a dividing "" between the story and the end comments. And after I posted it I changed my name from SilverSaki to Little Shizuku. So, sorry. Here is the next installment.

Disclaimer: Some of the ideas, themes, and one of the characters are inspired by those of _The Phantom of the Opera_.

CHAPTER TWO:

Sir Ange

A cold moisture on her forehead finally stirred Lolita. Blearily, she opened her eyes. Her vision rapidly cleared up. There was a blob leaning over her, a blue blob, no, a person, a man. They were holding a cloth over her forehead. She heard other people murmuring things behind him, so he wasn't the only one present.

"Ah… What's happening?" Lolita mumbled, and suddenly her memory of the night before rushed back into her head. She jolted up, her eyes wide. "Where is he? Where did he go?" Now that she was alert, she took in her surroundings. The person who had held the cloth over her head was vested in a gilded blue suit, and he had golden hair that hung slightly over his face. His eyes were shining emeralds, like her own. He was crouched over her, and above him stood a small crowd of fancily dressed men and women.

"Madam Lolita? Are you feeling quite all right?" the blonde man asked, his eyes shining with concern. Feeling slightly embarrassed by her outburst, Lolita got to her feet. She bowed to the man, then, realizing women were meant to curtsy, she did that, too.

"I am quite all right, good sir. I was just curious as to if you or any other present would care to explain to me what is going on and what happened?" Lolita asked, unable to keep annoyance from her voice. She didn't much like being the center of attention, and she liked even less being crooned over by absolute strangers. She crossed her arms and proceeded to give each one of the people a nasty look.

"Ah, please Madam, do not take this the wrong way, for I, nor any of us, mean to insult. However, we knew that the new owner of this opera house had arrived in the night, but when we checked your quarters, you were not there. Worried, as any person would be, we searched and discovered you passed out on the floor here. We are all quite relieved you are well, Madam Lolita," the golden haired man said. Sweeping into a bow, he introduced himself. "I am the director of the operas that go on here, and these are my assistants and some of the singers. I am Sir Richard Brunswick." Lolita stifled the urge to snort, and instead said through a tight-lipped smile,

"My pleasure. Well, as should be evident, I am quite well, and if it is fine with all of you, I would be very happy if someone would escort me to my room, which I was unable to find." Lolita said. Perhaps the events of the night before had been but a fantasy in her head? An illusion created by fear and worry over this new home? Nervously, Lolita fumbled her fingers and realized she was holding something — a rose. Her blood went cold. It was not a dream.

So he was real. The strange one who everyone knew of and everyone feared existed after all. Lolita shivered at this thought, and her hand clenched down on the rose. A woman came through the crowd now and went right up to Lolita.

"Hello Madam. I am Clarissé Kemble, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I served your grandparents — may they rest in peace — when they lived here, and so I shall be your assistant as well. Please allow me to escort you to your room," the woman said, diving into a flowing curtsy. Lolita just nodded, and so Clarissé rose and began to weave her way through the crowd. Lolita figured she ought to say something to them, so as she began to make her leave, she called over her shoulder,

"Thank you all for your concern. I will do my best to keep the opera house as lively and successful as it was when it was the property of my grandparents." Hoping this was suitable, she hurried to catch up with Clarissé.

As she fell into stride with her, the woman glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was following, and then smiled at Lolita.

"Well, they sure seemed quite interested in seeing you. They all heard about your parents… uh, 'situation' with the former owners of this place, and they wanted to see if you looked like you would be a good owner. Nosey bastards," Clarissé snorted. Realizing she had just swore, she quickly added, "Pardon me." Lolita laughed. She decided she already liked Clarissé.

"No, I don't care if you swear on one condition: you have to call me Lolita, and drop all formalities when it's just the two of us talking," Lolita grinned. Clarissé mirrored the gesture. The smile was very nice on her face, and it made the woman's blue eyes sparkle. Clarissé was, Lolita noticed, actually quite young. She had long blonde hair tied into a tight braid, and her figure was slender. Her face was still devoid of wrinkles.

"I was hoping I could call you Lolita," Clarissé said. "Madam is so stuffy. Your grandparents — or your grandsire, at any rate — didn't like all the formality either. Your grandmother, well, she was her own person. I was a little worried when I first saw you, because you look so like her. I've seen pictures of her when she was younger. She was actually very beautiful. It was the same kind of dark beauty you have. It's little wonder she was such a respected woman." Lolita grimaced. Again, a focus on looks. Her father had been plain — actually, he had had a rather awkwardly large nose — but he was the kindest man Lolita had known.

"I think society should look deeper than peoples' faces," Lolita muttered as Clarissé turned a corner. Clarissé abruptly froze, so quickly that Lolita walked right into her.

"What did you say?" Clarissé asked, her voice flat and cold. Lolita creased her brow, feeling slightly upset. Here she was, thinking Clarissé was a wonderful person, and now, with even the slightest mention of something that went against beauty, Clarissé was harsh. She sighed, and opened her mouth.

"I said, 'I think society should look deeper than peoples' faces.' I'm very sorry if you don't agree, but that is my personal opinion." Lolita kept her voice level, but she sensed some of her disappointment came out regardless. To her surprise, however, Clarissé laughed. It wasn't an honest, cheerful laugh, like Lolita's father's had been, or sinister, like the Phantom's laugh. It was melancholy, almost nostalgic.

"I'm sorry. It's just… I heard that before from someone else. The person who said it… Well, never mind. It's all in the past now." Clarissé's voice was so small and mourning that Lolita suddenly felt she might cry. What could possibly be so painful? Feeling guilty for upsetting Clarissé, Lolita put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Clarissé turned, and quickly smiled, but it wasn't as sincere as it had been earlier.

"Sorry. That has nothing to do with you," Clarissé said, her voice now a bit stronger. She turned around and continued down the hall. Lolita, feeling thoroughly awkward, stared at the candles as she walked in silence. The flames wiggled back and forth, their shadows jumping up and down the wall. They no longer seemed ominous as they had the night before; now, they merely seemed old fashioned.

"Tell me, Clarissé, why candles? Even in the slums, everyone has basic electricity. In the richer neighborhoods, I think most people have virtual reality, holographic projections, and solar lighting backed up by electricity." Lolita said, looking at the dripping wax from one candle. It was making a small puddle on the scarlet carpets. That would be a nightmare to get out.

"There are lots of reasons why we still use candles. One is that it's a tradition. Another is that…" Clarissé cast a shifty look around her, then leaned towards Lolita. "…the Phantom will have it no other way." Lolita shivered as she remembered him. He had had quite a presence, with his swirling black cape, and his shining eyes… She did not wish to find out what it would be like if those eyes shone with fury. Clarissé leaned back now, and brightened.

"Anyway, the reason that everyone excepts as most likely is that Sir Brunswick loves the drama. He's such a hopeless romantic," Clarissé snorted. Lolita looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Brunswick? That blond man?" Lolita asked, as they turned a corner. They were now in a much shorter hallway, at the end of which was another staircase. Clarissé paused again.

"Your room is up those stairs. I'd prefer we discuss this all there, lest someone else hear us," Clarissé mumbled, motioning with her head to the doors that lined the hallway. Lolita looked down them. Probably, other people — maybe even Sir Brunswick himself —lived in those rooms. It would be bad for Clarissé and Lolita if those people heard them talking about them behind their backs. Lolita nodded.

Now that they weren't speaking, they went down the hallway much faster. The stairs spiraled upwards, and on every turn was a solitary flickering candle in a twisted iron holder. Lolita grimaced. _What a pleasant sight to be greeted with every single morning,_ Lolita thought grimly. Clarissé paid them no heed, and when they got to the top of the stairs, she whipped out a huge metal key with a thick tassel hanging off the end. She slipped it in the keyhole, turned it, and opened the huge wood door.

"Madam Lolita," Clarissé said, a dramatic grin playing over her features, "welcome to your new home!"

Lolita walked through the doorway, and her jaw fell down. She meant to pick it back up, but her mind was pre-occupied taking in the room. It was enormous. A ceiling went flying upwards, so high that there was a balcony above looking down. Lolita made out a door — to the roof, perhaps? A chandelier with little bits of glass and gems of all colors hug from the top of the ceiling, casting faint shafts of light in all colors. Two windows as big as Lolita herself displayed a view of the city, and Lolita was once again reminded that she was in the modern world. Black curtains were tied to the edges of the windows, so she had no concerns about privacy. A ladder led up to the balcony, and beside it was a small writing desk and a plain wood chair. A huge wardrobe was in one corner of the room, and in the other was a canopy bed. Lolita ran over and examined the fine sheets. They were crisp and clean. She wanted to cry tears of joy. She had never realized how very wealthy her grandparents had been. With her newfound joy, she could not help but feel a pang of resentment as she thought of the abject poverty she had lived through when she was young. She was happy when she had food. Her grandparents were sleeping on silk when she was sleeping on trash. The tear that landed on the sheet was a mixture of emotions spilling out.

"Do you like it?" Clarissé's cut into Lolita's thoughts. She quickly wiped away the remainders of tears and turned to Clarissé.

"I love it. Absolutely _love_ it." Lolita smiled wide. She sat down on the bed, crossing her legs under her. Clarissé stood there in the doorway.

"Oh! Please, sit. You may sit whenever you like with me…" Lolita added, as Clarissé gratefully sat beside her.

"Now, you were asking about Sir Richard Brunswick, were you not?" Clarissé asked, and with Lolita's encouraging nod, continued. "Well, he's the one responsible for the candles. Anyway, he's only twenty-two, but he's the one who directs all the operas. He's quite good. All his operas are a success. I was in a few. I want to be a great singer one day, but currently I only have minor roles, so I work as a maid to get more money." Clarissé's face was slightly melancholy and dreamy as she said this, but it went away when she went back to the subject of Brunswick.

"Sir Richard Brunswick. He's very popular with young ladies — little surprise, considering the way he looks. Not my type, really, but, ah well, to each his own, or in this case, her own. Although, I think Sir Brunswick would really go either way himself." Clarissé grinned wryly. Lolita turned her head to one side.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Clarissé chuckled.

"Nothing, nothing… Anyway, Brunswick is so popular that some have taken to calling him Sir Ange. I guess he looks kind of like the old paintings of angels, and when he wants to, he acts like one. Mind you, I think you deserve a warning. In formal meetings, or around women he may be interested in, he acts completely gentle, and calm, and all together loving. In those cases, I guess he fits the bill for a 'Sir Ange.' However, in practices for operas, he gets easily annoyed and is very strict. And he's a merciless ladies' man." Clarissé concluded, crossing her arms over her chest and nodding in agreement with herself. Lolita laughed.

"Oh dear. Well, I assure you, you have nothing to worry about with me. I shall be completely careful. Now, I am actually rather tired, and as it is getting late, I would like to go to sleep." Lolita said, gesturing to the window. Indeed, it was already dark out. She must have come too late in the day. How hard had she hit her head? She shrugged. Clarissé got up, stretching.

"I'll leave the key in the lock. You'll find nightclothes in that wardrobe. Good night." Clarissé said. She drew the curtains, curtsied, and left, shutting the door with a click behind her. Lolita rolled off the bed and hurried to the wardrobe. She flung the door open and her stomach reeled. Did she have to wear clothes this fancy everyday? Sighing, she fumbled through them until she found a green silk nightgown. _This'll do._ Lolita decided. She flung off her old clothes and slipped the nightgown on. She left the clothes in a heap on the floor. She could pick them up in the morning. As she through them, she noticed she was still clutching the rose. Slowly, she walked to the writing desk and placed it down. Satisfied, she strode to her bed. Every limb in her body ached with fatigue as Lolita though herself down, and within minutes she was far away in the land of dreams that only she could visit.

This one was longer, but it was still short. I'm still introducing characters and stuff, that's why… Anyway, Chapter three should be up soon. Until then, I remain —

—Little Shizuku


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